


Ache

by notenoughtogivebread



Series: Klaine Advent 2014 [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: After The Break-Up, Depression, M/M, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:45:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughtogivebread/pseuds/notenoughtogivebread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Klaine Advent 2014. Prompt: Ache. Blaine goes to bed after he comes home from New York. He's not sure he ever wants to get up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ache

He’d expected it to hurt, had steeled himself for it the whole plane ride across a snowy Pennsylvania, but he’d thought only of the emotional pain. And God, he had that, felt like he’d made a horcrux and had torn his soul in two. But it was more—his whole body just ached, out of sympathy for his poor bruised ego and his shattered heart probably. But still, it ached.

It was a Saturday morning in late October. Sam would probably start calling soon, pestering him about some Halloween party or other. And Artie’s texts about rehearsal schedules and props and shit like that were piling up on his phone; it was about time for another one of them. But Blaine was just lying on his bed, spread-eagle, exhausted from the effort to crawl out of the tight cocoon of his blankets.

Daddy would call it self-pity. Had already called it that, in fact. Good thing he was away this weekend, then, so Blaine could catalog his misery in peace. His head hurt, first, pressure behind his eyes and in the sinuses tortured by tears. That wasn’t anything new. But his hands—his hands ached like he’d been hitting the heavy bag all day. He lifted them up to inspect them, and his triceps complained at the movement. He dropped them down to his chest, laid them over his poor empty heart.

And just like that, the room was full of Kurt again, his laughing, teasing face watching him from the chair by the bed, his long lean body drawing Blaine’s eye across the room to where Kurt stood by the wardrobe, matching ties and shirts as he assembled the right outfit for Blaine. So many days spent here, cuddled up close with a Real Housewives show on the laptop and a bowl of popcorn and Kurt’s snarky comments. Blaine laid his head back with a thunk, closed his eyes and sighed, the phantom pressure of dream Kurt at his side fading away.

He was tired of the tears, but still they slid out, a steady flow he felt in his ears and along his hairline. Damn them. He went back to his catalog. The small of his back ached—why was that?—and his hams felt sore like he’d spent the morning riding Shadowfax on the polo field rather than in this bed. But he hadn’t been to the stable in weeks.

“Oh, my heart.” Mama was hovering in the doorway again, hovering like she’d been since he’d come back from New York. Looking up to meet her anxious brown eyes was too much like watching her worry last winter after the Rock Salt Slushy, or like all those afternoons he lay in traction years ago. He wanted to make her stop, say this was different, that he’d done the damage by himself this time, but he guessed she knew that.

He should make an effort, he thought, at something–at conversation, playing at being a normal boy again. “Mama, is the Del Porte kid riding Shadowfax still, do you think? We don’t want him to get too fat this winter.”

She took that as permission and slipped into the room, tentatively sitting on the edge of his bed. “I suppose. But, Blaine, I’ll bet he misses you. He’s been your pony for so long.”

“He’ll get along all right without me. Everybody does,” he replied, turning his head away and closing his eyes again. Even this deep in his self-loathing, he knew that was going too far. He felt her posture stiffen next to him, and the cool stroke of her hand on his arm ceased.

“YOU can’t do without you. And your schoolwork and your Glee club and this family can’t do without you. Come on, then. Up! Up! You’ve been in this bed too many days now. And we need to strip these sheets anyway!” And she hopped up, suddenly energized and angry. Why was EVERYONE always angry around him?

He sat up, grumbling, more aware than ever of all the aches–in his hips and shoulders and feet. God, even his feet hurt. “But, Mama, I don’t feel good and I hurt all over,” he whined, a last-ditch stand.

“I don’t need a medical degree to tell you that you ache all over BECAUSE you are in this bed too much. It’s no good, Nonoy. You have to live your life. You have the play and your music and your studies, and why did you run for Class President if you’re just going to lie in bed?”

He had no answers for her, and besides, there was no talking to Mama once she started giving orders, so he kept his head down and pulled at the sheets as she folded his comforter. He ignored the phone that buzzed on his nightstand, and she paused in her work. “Aren’t you going to see what the message is?”

“It…it doesn’t matter, Mama. It’s not who I want it to be.”

She dropped down into the chair, the green comforter bunched up on her lap. “Oh, Blaine.” She hesitated. “I know it’s not him. But you have to let him have this time, have to let him come to you.”

He dropped the dirty sheets at his feet and wrapped his arms around himself. “But what if he doesn’t, Mama? What then?”

“Then you go on. What else is there, my son? You go on.”

**Author's Note:**

> Mama is Filipina, because I like Lea Salonga as Blaine's mom. (Gina Gershon is an interesting choice too, but she's not THIS mama.)


End file.
